


the shire is beautiful in summer

by LeagueOfWonder



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 10:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18408335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeagueOfWonder/pseuds/LeagueOfWonder
Summary: When Bilbo came to the East Road, he stared down it for a hesitant moment. It stretched far, and he and the Company had taken it for a time. He had many a memory of the East Road. So, rather than tread an already well-trodden path, Bilbo turned south and began his journey.





	the shire is beautiful in summer

The Shire is beautiful in summer. Colorful flowers bloom in the tens of thousands, stretching almost without a break from nearly one end to the other. Tomatoes hang from vines in ripe, red bundles and pies cool on windowsills in the warm summer evenings. Summer is a time for merriment, for wonder and adoration and even just a smidge of mischief. There are parties every night and every Hobbit returns from the market with a full basket and a smile upon their face. Every Hobbit, that is, except Bilbo Baggins of Bag End.

Bilbo quickly discovers upon his return to the Shire that two years on an adventure is a long time by any reckoning, and particularly by Shire reckoning. Two years is an eternity of missed gossip and increasingly heightened scandal turned “Poor lost Bilbo, we’ll never know what became of him. I saw him the morning of the day before he left and he seemed right as rain.” The scandal of death on an adventure could perhaps only be surpassed by returning alive—a feat Bilbo managed quite neatly, with Sting on his hip and a Dwarven coat of mail on his shoulders.

So, Bilbo spent his days in Bag End, reading his books, studying his maps, and writing down the tales of his adventures outside the Shire late in the evening when he is sure no one would knock on his door. It is a lonely life, he finds.

Bilbo was just putting away his ink and wrapping up the now rather significant bundle of paper that made up his story when a wave of exhaustion hit him so strongly he decided to leave them where they were and hurry to bed. He changed quickly into his most comfortable nightshirt and scrambled into bed, falling asleep almost as soon as he lay down.

He woke in the middle of the night, the moon shining brightly through his window. He had no memory of his dream, but he knows it was a sad one. Bilbo spent the early hours of the morning closing his eyes and imagining people there with him. Not touching, necessarily, though that would not be unwelcome. He dreamt of the quiet sounds of a fall evening, the crackle of a dying fire, the shuffling and deep breaths of thirteen companions, the warmth of another body near his own. His bed felt cold and alone, separated from the rest of the world.

It took three months for Bilbo to take in all the vibrancy of a Shire summer, to socialize with all the Hobbits that he has known for his entire life, to contemplate the histories of the all the races of Middle Earth and realize—he belongs in the world. The Shire is not for him.

Preparedness, Bilbo decided, was key.

Bilbo made himself a checklist. First, he had to sew his emergency coin into the seams of his jacket. Then, he needed to ready his pack, ensuring he had all the necessities for a life led entirely on the road. Finally, he must say his goodbyes and give Bag End to the one person he knew would most appreciate his home: Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, Yavanna love her.

So, he sat down to sew gold coins and a few precious gems into the lining of all of his clothing. His favorite and second favorite pair of pants received the initial treatment, then the jackets he had acquired from that sweet lass selling clothing she made herself in that stall in Bree. Then, of course, the oilskin coat he had gotten as a gift from the Dwarf he had told of his seven hellish days of rain with the Company. Privately, Bilbo had wondered if the reason for the gift was more to do with the fact that his name was Bilbo Arkenstone Bearer to the Dwarves of Erebor, but he preferred to think the gift was due to his skill at storytelling. Then, he worked on some of his heavier shirts, until he found himself utterly finished and with quite a fortune stashed away.

In typical fashion, or perhaps only typical of a Bilbo who had experienced adventure—his old self would have balked at an incomplete checklist— he had only gotten through half his list before he got up one morning and decided enough was enough.

He gathered together his pack, grabbed his nicest walking stick, and down Bagshot Row Bilbo went, whistling as he walked. The sun was rising over the Shire, the grass was still covered in dew from the night, and the good people of Hobbiton were just beginning to rise from the night’s sleep. It was a beautiful morning, and Bilbo found himself without even a hint of regret at leaving without a single goodbye. He had honestly wondered if Lobelia might be insulted at the idea that she would not have been able to acquire his smial without him gifting it to her, so maybe it was all for the best that he leave before he had finished. Acquiring Bag End was one of her pastimes, after all, and it would be cruel to take away her satisfaction. He was glad to see the last of that green door.

Within the hour, Bilbo had left Hobbiton. Within the day, the Shire was behind him. He spared a moment’s time, idly wondering if he would ever return to his home of so many years, the only place in all the world where he knew its culture and customs, where everything was sized exactly correctly and everyone had generally the right idea when it came to the important things in life: kinship and companionship are more important than all the wealth and prestige in the world. But, it took only another moment to acknowledge that while he knew the Shire best, it had ceased to know him. The Shire was no place for Bilbo Baggins any longer.

Stopping in Bree for a short time had been a pleasant affair, and he appreciated that this would be the last time in perhaps all his life that he would not be remarked upon for being a Hobbit. But, he had decided to leave, and Bree was not far enough from Bag End for him. There was a whole world out there to see!

When Bilbo came to the East Road, he stared down it for a hesitant moment. It stretched far, and he and the Company had taken it for a time. He had many a memory of the East Road. So, rather than tread an already well-trodden path, Bilbo turned south and began his journey.


End file.
